One Night...With Her Boss. Annie O'Neil
certainly wasn’t expecting any now.
She hurriedly pulled on her woolly slipper boots and jogged to the door. When she pulled it open her stomach careened round her insides and her heart lurched into her throat all in one blood-racing moment.
Standing there, or rather filling up her doorway, eyes twinkling and a bottle of red dangling from his fingers, was The Suit.
“Hello, there, neighbor. Fancy a bit of work talk over a glass of vino?”
Ali’s heart changed its syncopation—moving from dirge to dance mix in an instant. Pure determination kept her from unleashing a broad smile at his presence. She was a steely-gazed doctor, not a moony-eyed teenager. Right?
Her body’s response to Aidan had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he was the most gorgeous male specimen she’d ever seen. Clothed or otherwise. Or with the fact that his voice was about as trickle-down-your-spine scrumptious as they came. Especially when he was whispering sweet nothings into her ear as he traced his fingers across her bare belly in an endless swirl of figure-eights.
He was an arrogant know-it-all! And now he was her neighbor?
“What are you doing here?”
Not really a comment out of the etiquette books, but she was pretty sure they were past social niceties.
“I live a couple of buildings down in the complex and thought I’d be a bit more welcoming than I was this afternoon,” he explained with an innocent smile.
“But how did you know I …?” she started, then petered out.
“Apart from the fact your contact details are listed on every emergency sheet at the stadium, who do you think sent you the recommendation you check the place out?” He held up the bottle of red. “This was my thank-you from the building committee for your decision to move in. I thought it would only be fair to share the spoils.”
Aidan practically purred as he made to enter her apartment minus an invitation.
Ali stepped aside on autopilot, all too aware of the scrummy male scent of him as he swept past her into the loft. She could think of a thing or two he could do to be more welcoming—and they were definitely not in an etiquette book.
Regroup! Ali stared at the closed door and tried to come up with a plan. Think, think, think, think.
Kick him out. It’s the only way. Time to show the upper hand.
Ali whirled around, only to see Aidan merrily nosing around her kitchen.
“What’s for dinner, honey? Hope it goes with red!”
Aidan’s voice was infused with the same twinkle of humor she could see in his eyes. The same rascally voice that had kidded her about how quickly she had managed to rip his clothes off. Well, not rip exactly—she had been aware that he might need his shirt the next day—but who knew cotton could seem such a thick barrier between a woman and The Suit’s chest? The clothes had had to go!
He gave her a wink. A cute one that threatened the tightly pinched corners of her mouth. He really did have the most beautiful brown eyes. They somehow managed to look even more like dark chocolate now than they had the first time she’d seen them. A rich contrast to the deep maroon lambswool jumper that his shoulders filled to designer perfection. Of course. Would The Suit’s shoulders do anything but?
What had happened to his suit, anyway? Probably best he didn’t have it on. Too much temptation. Mind you, his earth-toned moleskin trousers didn’t exactly look off the rack. Aidan was rocking a sophisticated “lad” look. Complete with ironically arched eyebrow as he scanned her flat.
It was obvious, as she watched him take in the old leather sofa, the bare walls and the small dining table without chairs, that he found her living arrangements amusing.
“I’m presuming no one told you we have furniture stores up here?”
“Look—” Ali started, then clamped her lips tight. It wasn’t as if she was going to tell him she’d sold all of her furniture in a spontaneous and very thorough need to clutter-clear.
Everything she’d had before her mum died was a memory, and ever since then she didn’t do rehashes of the past. She wasn’t going to tell him a single thing. Not about her mother. Not about her who-knew-where-the-hell-he-was? father. Not about the accident that had ended her dance career before it had even begun. Not a word. Just like she’d said at the airport. No names. No history. Just unbridled passion.
It was obvious Aidan wasn’t after a roll in the hay now. He was on a fact-finding mission.
Too bad! This was her space. One night stands at snowy airports were one thing. Casual drop-in dinner dates with her grouch of a boss had a whole other rulebook.
“Doesn’t seem the doctor’s got much in the house.”
Aidan was making himself quite at home—merrily inspecting her refrigerator’s stores and, having found them wanting, opening up the cupboard doors where he would see, Ali knew, absolutely no food. It was all very familiar for someone with whom she was—er—intimately familiar.
“I’ve been busy. I haven’t really—”
“If you’re going to be part of this team you’ve got to keep your energy up.” Aidan wagged a teasing finger in her direction.
Who was this man? Dr. Jolly-Jekyll or Mr. Keep-Your-Hands-Off Hyde?
“Well?” Aidan looked at her expectantly.
“Sorry? I didn’t catch that.” Ali tugged her fingers through her hair, twisting a few dark strands round her index finger. Her stomach was in knots, so her hair might as well be, too.
“What’s it short for?”
“What?” She stared at him blankly.
“Your full name—I presume it’s not Ali.”
“Alexis. Defender of humankind,” she answered by rote, eyes suddenly locked with his.
Aidan stepped out from behind the kitchen bar, clasping her right hand between both of his. A burst of electricity shot along her spine as she found herself eye to eye with the appealing expanse of his chest. She’d kissed that chest. Lots. A nice display of sexy man whorls of hair above a c’mon, punch me hard set of abs.
If she were to look up into those espresso-colored eyes of his and—
She felt her hand being rigorously shaken.
Er … Was she missing something here?
“Hello there, Alexis.” He further corrected himself, “Dr. Lockhart. I think we got off to the wrong start today.”
Today?
“Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Dr. Aidan Tate, Chief Medical Officer for the North Stars—at your service.”
He dropped her tingling fingers, took a broad step backward and performed a half bow, then looked up at her with those incredible, endlessly dark eyes. Ali felt her knees give a little.
For heaven’s sake. You’ve met the entire royal family and didn’t act like such a ninny. Pull yourself together!
She gave him a slight head-nod. If this was his version of an apology he had yet to win her over. Well. Professionally. “Dr. Ali Lockhart—at your service.”
There were a number of things Aidan could have said in response, but they wouldn’t serve the purpose of his visit. He was here to begin afresh with Dr. Alexis Lockhart, the team’s new physio-surgeon with one turn-you-green-with-envy CV.
“On paper it looks as though you’ve never taken a moment off to do anything other than study or practice medicine. When did you start? When you were twelve?”
“Something like that.”